


Roses

by R00bs_Teacup



Series: Drunk on the Moon [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 21:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: Visiting family





	Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts).



“Oh my god René you brought them all?! Where are we gonna put them!” Rose cries, when he idiot brother shows up on her doorstep with two other hulking men at his shoulder. And Athos.

Porthos shoulders Aramis aside and embraces Rose, kissing her cheeks and her forehead and crouching to say hi to three year old Antonia, so far hidden behind her mother’s knees, bending his head so she can see him properly and giggle at him and then scooping her up. 

“I’ve brought a tent, love,” Porthos says. “d’Art’ll bed in with me. Athos and Aramis are too prissy so you’ll have to find a bit of floor to stash ‘em.”

“A tent,” Rose says, unimpressed. “Alright, come on in.”

They troop through to the kitchen and Rose starts a pot of tea, indicating that they should sit at the table. Athos opens his mouth, probably to ask for coffee so Porthos steps on his foot to keep him quiet. Athos shuts his mouth. Porthos passes Antonia to Aramis who goes into uncle mode and starts planning all sorts of trouble. They’re only here for a day and a bit, to coincide with Vicente, Aramis’s brother, who’s coming to stay in a hotel and can’t make it to London for a visit with them as it’s a flying visit, he’s really here on business. It’s going to be a busy house for a while. d’Artagnan starts looking around for ways he can help and suggests he do the dishes. 

“Fine, but don’t try and put them away,” Rose says. “Is he adequate, Porthos?”

“Scrubs them up lovely,” Porthos endorses, smiling at d’Art. “He’s a love.”

“Oi,” d’Artagnan scolds, blushing. “Leave me be.”

Rose and Aramis start an idle back and forth around his conversation with Antonia, catching up on family news, d’Artagnan’s quite happy humming and getting sudsy, so Porthos is left with a slightly frazzled Athos. Athos did the driving and driving with Aramis and d’Art in the back seat is always an effort of patience. They’re quite… boistrous. 

“I’ll make you a coffee in a bit,” Porthos murmurs, leaning over to kiss Athos’s cheek. Rose offers the tea around, Porthos the only taker, and sets about clearing up around them, still chatting with Aramis. 

“Antonia’s bigger,” Athos says, eyeing her uncertainly. He’s good with kids and like them in a quiet, sober kind of way. They like him because he takes them seriously. He’s a long study though and he hasn’t seen Ant since her second birthday party. “I know, I know; babies do that.”

“Toddler, now,” Porthos says, who saw her more recently, last time Rose was in London. They’d left Ant with Aramis for the day and Porthos had taken her around a bit, and then he’d had Ant in the evening and Aramis and Rose had gone for drinks. “You taking her over to Chile this summer, lovely?”

“Me?” Rose asks, distracted trying to shove a basket of toys in a cupboard. She manages, straightens up and comes to sit astride a backwards chair, resting her chin in her hand; she looks very young, all her dark hair swirling around her. “Obviously me. I’m Rose, Porthos.”

“Alright Rosie,” Porthos says, grinning. She reaches out to swat at him. 

“Yeah, we’re going over for four months, I’ve arranged to work from home and Alice is taking the time off,” Rose says. 

“Can’t believe you stole my girlfriend and married her,” Porthos grumbles, as he does every time. 

“Can’t believe you dumped her for my ugly brother,” Rose rejoins, also as always. They grin at each other, waiting… 

“I am a very beautiful person,” Aramis says, with dignity, getting up off the floor with Antonia under an arm. “Inside and out.”

They laugh at him; his hair’s in disarray, Antonia has found a pen to draw on his arm, he has some kind of food on his cheek. He’s a great uncle. Ant squirms and yells and he goes back to her, chasing her out toward the living room. Rose turns her attention on Athos, asking about work and the drive, so Porthos gets up to make coffee and dry dishes for d’Art. He knows where most things goes but he only puts those things away, the rest he’ll get beheaded if he puts them wrong so he leaves a pan and a deep oven dish and a breadboard out on the counter. 

“Can I get a coffee, too?” d’Art whispers, leaning beside Porthos while the percolator does its thing under Porthos’s gaze.

“Yeah. Why are we whispering?” Porthos whispers back, patting d’Artagnan’s flat stomach admiringly. He’s so lovely. Porthos shifts his attention from the coffee to d’Artagnan and leans over for kisses, getting distracted. 

“Hey,” Rose says, leaning back to poke his hip. “Come help me persuade Athos that Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them is better than Robot Chicken.”

“I will not,” Porthos says, pouring out three coffees. 

He and d’Art rejoin the table and Rose acquires the third coffee. Porthos had meant to drink it but he’s not fussed; he sticks with tea. He listens to the other three bickering about tv and films, to Aramis and Antonia making noise in the other room, to the washer/dryer running. It feels like home here, such an open house, welcoming everyone. People coming and going. Porthos remembers his Mum’s like this. Now she’s moved back to Siere Leone to live with her sister and he doesn’t see them as much as he’d like, it’s nice to feel the same sense of community and family that he used to. Not that he doesn’t feel that at home but they’ve all got jobs and there isn’t the same… no one sits in the kitchen and no one of them does that housework (sometimes none of them do the housework) and they don’t have people in and out. Well, except Constance, but she half-lives there, with Porthos and d’Art, so she doesn’t count. 

“Are you awake?” Aramis asks, rousing Porthos from his happy contemplation of the table, setting Antonia on Porthos’s head, making her giggle and grab handfuls of his hair and kick him in the face. “Oops. Careful Tonia! You’ll hurt him.”

“No,” Ant says, cheerfully. 

Aramis carries her away again and Porthos goes to watch their play for a while, joining in now and then to retrieve what’s thrown or accept what’s brought. One of Rose’s friends calls by with her four year old, and then another with his nephew and Porthos and Aramis start a mini and chaotic evening-care for them all. They get taken off again eventually as the sun goes down, and Porthos heads out into the garden for the last of the light to put up the tent. Athos comes to sit on the patio and watch. 

“Need a bit of quiet?” Porthos suggests, panting, getting the poles in place. 

Athos grunts and smiles widely, watching Porthos struggle. Eventually he rolls his eyes and gets down to help and the tent goes up easy under their combined efforts. Athos crawls inside to fuss and Porthos chucks his bag in after and leaves him to it. He’s pretty sure Athos will actually sleep with him and d’Artagnan inside, his earlier comment aside. Athos likes his own space and Rose has no spare room, it’ll be the floor in the living-room or an awkward camp out in Antonia’s bedroom, a tiny space which is always a bit of a mess. 

Dinner is homemade lasagna, brought from work by Alice. She and Porthos met at a restaurant they were both serving time in, shitty greasy food that they did their best to make edible, they’d bonded over fried eggs and the smell of grease in their hair, sweating away in the hot kitchen. They’d fallen out when Porthos got in one too many joyful bar brawls and impromptu boxing matches, and next time he’d seen her it was at a party thrown by Rose. She teases him tonight, reminding him of the first time she’d invited him over. 

“I was putting on my best flirt, with my full menu planned, and you just said-” Alice starts, laughing, poking his cheek. 

“I AM always hungry,” Porthos says, which just makes her laugh harder. She’s in charge of getting Antonia properly fed and Antonia likes her laughing and throws a baby tomato at her in shared joy. Which is justice. 

“Have more pasta,” Rose says, pushing the dish over. “Everyone else is done you can finish it.”

Porthos tucks in enthusiastically. Aramis and Rose are talking about Vicente’s arrival tomorrow and d’Artagnan’s being strong armed into reading bedtime stories, going up with Alice to bathe Antonia. Porthos finishes his leftovers and clears up quietly, getting out a bottle of wine he brought and making another pot of coffee; Athos and d’Artagnan both drink too much caffeine and aren’t affected by it, Athos won’t drink wine away from home but he’ll happily drink gallons of coffee. The conversation turns soft when d’Artagnan comes down, Alice close on his heels, Antonia singing noisily to herself. Porthos sits back and lets it wash over him, tired. He’s been working over time so he can get days off for this and he only got off work half an hour before they left this morning. Athos leans over, hand on Porthos’s knee. Away from home they kind of gang together, the other two much more sociable. 

“Ready for bed?” Athos asks, giving his thigh a squeeze. 

“Not that sort, I’m knackered,” Porthos says. Athos makes a moue of disappointment. “I didn’t bring a packer anyway. You could just have me dick, then, I guess, while I slept.”

“I like you being attached,” Athos whispers, bright red. 

“Eh, it’s all the same prick,” Porthos says. 

“Yes, and I like it very much, it’s yours,” Athos whispers, blushing harder. Porthos tugs Athos’s t-shirt so he can see his collar bones blush too. 

“What are you guys doing?” Aramis asks, laughing softly, tipsy with wine and so happy to be here. Porthos beams across at him and shrugs innocently, which just makes Aramis giggle. 

“We’re going to bed,” Athos says, getting up and yawning dramatically. 

“Ooh, I’m coming,” Aramis says, bouncing to his feet. 

“Me too,” d’Artagnan says. 

They all end up in the tent, even Aramis who hates sleeping anywhere but in a bed. He makes do sprawling on top of Porthos and kissing at him while he falls asleep, Athos snugged against one side, d’Artagnan spooned up behind Athos. Porthos assumes some of them get laid because he wakes up at some point to too much heat and Aramis being extra noisy. He turns over and tucks Aramis closer to muffle him and feels him shiver, then Porthos is asleep again.


End file.
